On the Town
by scillio
Summary: Marlene knows that nice girls don't end up on rooftops on Sunday morning with Curly Shepard and his beer can contraption, but nice girls don't write interesting plays, and she means to give Tennessee Williams a run for his money.


"Shepard, that is Glen Briggs. He is the quarterback of the football team, and if he catches you he'll break your head in. And he'll catch you. Because he's _the quarterback of the football team._ "

Marlene shaded her eyes against the sun. She had abandoned her hopes of getting through this experience without coating her new skirt in dust and laid down next to Curly, but that did not mean that she was happy about being on the roof of Hudson's Barber Shop on a Sunday morning. She should have been in church. _Curly_ should have been in church. He needed it more than she did.

"What are you even doing here, Marlene?" said Ponyboy Curtis, who was holding about ten beer cans duct taped together and still managing to look like he thought _she_ was dumb. Marlene wrinkled her nose at him.

"I'm writing a play," she said flatly, "about what happens in a society where any idiot off the street can buy a potato."

Ponyboy snorted. "You're anti free market potatoes?"

"Anti idiot," said Marlene.

Ponyboy apparently couldn't think of a suitable response, because he turned and stared stonily at Curly.

Curly paused from pretending he was aiming a bazooka at Glen Briggs' car and grinned at both of them. "Lay off, man. She's cool."

"She shouldn't be here if she's just gonna whine," said Ponyboy, in what Marlene considered a rather whiney manner.

 _"_ It's not whining to point out that Glen Briggs can run like the devil. _You'll_ be fine, track star. Curly's gonna get killed."

"I ain't gonna get killed," said Curly, as he hefted the imaginary bazooka back onto his shoulder. "And don't fuckin' call me that."

"Sorry. _Mikey._ "

"It's Mike! Just Mike." Michael Shepard, at the age of sixteen, had grown weary of his childhood nickname. Curly was not a tough name. Curly was not a cool name. Curly was a stooge. _Mike_ was none of these things; Mike Shepard was a name to be reckoned with, and Curly was certain that once everyone had been successfully convinced to call him that they would also see that _he_ was a force to be reckoned with.

There were two problems with this. The first was that no one who had ever spent more than five minutes with Curly was about to start calling him by his actual name; the second was that Ponyboy Curtis had also decided to start going by Michael. They had made these decisions independently of each other, though miraculously close in time (Marlene had a vague theory about chaotic coincidence in the works ) and each was convinced that the other was a dirty lying copycat.

Well, Ponyboy had said copycat. Curly had said bitch. Then they rolled around on the floor punching each other until Marlene threw her glass of water at them (just the water, not the glass) and then Curly's stepfather started shouting and they all ran for it.

Ponyboy rolled his eyes at Marlene to show that he thought Curly was ridiculous, and then remembered where they were and frowned to show he didn't appreciate her presence. Marlene ignored him.

"Ok, Mike, what's the big idea, then? You're gonna clock Glen Briggs with a potato and hope he forgets how to run?"

"Of course not. That has no finesse. No..." Curly whirled his fingers clockwise in search of the right word.

"Subtlety?" Ponyboy muttered as he fiddled with the beer cans.

Curly snapped his fingers at him. "That's it exactly. You got no _subtlety_ , Marlene."

He grinned as he said it and Marlene couldn't help but grin back. Curly had a reputation as a stupid hood, but in the few months since they'd started hanging around together she had never seen him on the outside of a joke. He always knew what was going on. She liked that about him.

Of course, it was hard to explain that to people, given that he tended to do things like lie in wait on rooftops with beer cans and gasoline and potatoes and very bad intentions.

Marlene wasn't exactly sure how all this was going to come together, but she knew it was going to be explosive and dangerous and illegal, and she felt it was her duty to stick around and try to keep things from getting too out of hand. Plus it might make a good scene in her latest play. Plus she really wanted to see what was going to happen.

"What's the plan, then, Mr. Subtlety?"

"The plan is to let Glenda Briggs off for today. I got no beef with him. You got a problem with Briggs, Curtis?"

"Nope."

"Ok, then. Briggs' lucky day. We're here for Charlie Prickhead."

Charlie Pickheed was the top of their class, star of the baseball team, and the mayor's eldest son. Marlene put her face in her hands.

Curly grinned malevolently. "I hate Charlie Prickhead."

" _Lots_ of people hate Charlie Pickheed. Quietly. From a distance." Marlene groaned. "He's probably faster than Glen! What are you going to _do_? And how do you know where Charlie Pickheed goes on Sunday mornings?"

Ponyboy huffed indignantly behind them, but Curly only laughed.

"I'm a fuckin' detective, is how. Prickhead and Briggs are cousins, right? And every other Sunday they meet here and take their grandma to church, and they take her car, cause she wants to fuckin' drive despite being nine hundred years old, which is pretty cool, I guess. I'd still wanna drive if I was old. Especially if I had some shit-for-brains grandkids."

Curly paused to consider the horror of his future progeny in letterman jackets and respectable haircuts. Marlene elbowed him. "Ok, and?"

"And then their cars are here, and they're down at Trinity Episcopal askin' for help gettin' laid. And- wait, get down."

The two of them ducked behind the foot of raised brick that lined the front of Hudson's flat roof as a white car swung into the driveway across the street.

"Speak of the devil," whispered Curly.

"What happens after they go to church?" Marlene whispered back.

Curly began to draw circles in the dust with his fingernails, which were already filthy. "We're gonna set up the beer can bazooka that me and Curtis built, and we're gonna put a hole through the window of that pretty little GTO."

Marlene was momentarily speechless, and when she could speak the only thing she could think to say was: "No."

"Yes," said Curly. "And then he's gonna come back here and he's- he's gonna think it was a cannon or some shit. But all he'll find when he looks in his car is a fuckin' potato!" Curly rolled onto his back and cackled wildly.

"Man, shut up!" Ponyboy kicked at Curly, who put his arm over his mouth to muffle the laughter.

Marlene looked at Ponyboy, who had the reputation of being intelligent, and widened her eyes expressively.

Ponyboy shrugged. "Pickheed's a jackass. He put Jimmy Kozlow in a locker last week," he said evenly, and then scowled. "You're free to leave whenever, you know. Nobody's holdin' you hostage."

"This would be the dumbest kidnapping in the history of the world," said Marlene. She turned back to Curly, who was still in paroxysms of delight over the thought of shooting a potato through a window. "Curly, what if somebody sees?"

"Quit callin' me that. Nobody's gonna see, cause they're all at church. We could blow the damn thing up and nobody would hear it." Curly sighed in contentment and folded his hands behind his head.

They listened in silence to the sounds of Charlie and Glen ushering their grandmother into her car. When the engine turned over Curly sat up and scooted toward Ponyboy.

"You ready?"

"Yep," said Pony. He poured a tiny amount of gasoline into the hole where the churchkey had punched through the lid of the last can. Other than the lid that was entirely torn off at the other end, where- Marlene knew now- they were going to shove the potato in, the whole contraption had been sealed off with duct tape.

"Ok," said Marlene, "here's a question: what if that dumb thing blows up in your face?"

"You think we didn't test it out already?" Ponyboy was offended by the implication.

"Oh, what was I thinking? That must mean it's perfectly safe," Marlene rolled her eyes and turned to peer over the edge of the roof again. Charlie Pickheed had backed his car into his grandmother's driveway. He might as well have painted a bullseye on the windshield.

She sat back on the heels of her Mary Janes, and then thought the better of it. Creasing the leather in strange ways wasn't going to do her any favors. Her mother thought she was at church with Lydia, and it would be hard enough getting the dust off her skirt and blouse enough to look like she had been.

Marlene was aware of a vague guilt settling over her. It was one thing to lie to her parents about going to church, but it was another to let two boys shoot out a windshield without even trying to stop them. Girls were supposed to be the sensible ones. Everyone was always telling her that. But then, everyone was always telling her _boys will be boys_ like it was supposed to excuse anything they did, right after they told her she was responsible to try and keep them straight.

Marlene was beginning to get the sense that the game was rigged.

And of course, there was nothing like experience for realism in writing. Mr. Beagan was always telling them to write from their own experience, and if she was going to make a career out of writing plays, then it stood to reason that she should be open to new experiences.

Plus she _really_ wanted to see what was going to happen.

Chivalry stirred within Curly, and he looked regretfully at Marlene. "I'd let you take the first shot, but I got dibs. It's personal, see."

"That's ok, I'm just here to watch the crime, not to participate."

"Shoot, this ain't a real crime," said Curly. Marlene looked at Ponyboy, who pointedly ignored her.

"Is it slightly possible, Shepard, that your definition of what constitutes a 'real crime' might be just a _little_ skewed?"

"Yep," said Curly, and stuck his lighter out next to the hole where the gasoline had gone in.

Marlene regretted later that she had been intent on watching the process instead of the result, because about ten seconds later there was a terrific smash and the windshield of the GTO was entirely shattered, and all she had seen was Curly clicking the flame up on his lighter.

Then several things happened at once. Curly whooped with sheer unadulterated joy. Ponyboy said sharply, "Get down!" And yanked Curly down flat on the roof, and Marlene happened to look two houses to the left of Glen Briggs' grandmother's and found herself making eye contact with the Home Ec. teacher, Miss Haldeman, who was standing in the doorway with a look of ineffable horror on her face.

For a brief moment, Marlene finally understood what it was to be an idiotic deer in the lights of an oncoming car. She tried to move, but her brain seemed to have cut ties with her body and it was all she could do to stand there gaping helplessly at Miss Haldeman in her housecoat.

Then a strong hand closed around her wrist and jerked her downward and Miss Haldeman disappeared from view. Curly was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Marlene slapped his shoulder as hard as she could, to no effect.

"What do we-" she began, then caught herself because it was obvious what they were going to do now. She looked resignedly at Ponyboy, who was laughing but far more in control of himself than Curly. "Run?"

Ponyboy grinned crazily at her and for half a second she saw a flash of his older brother. "Like the damn wind, Marlene."


End file.
